


From You Have I Been Absent In The Spring

by BetteNoire (WeAreWolves)



Series: Spotless [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: And by god everyone gets what they need, And genetically enhanced supersoldiers with ZERO game, Awesome Peggy Carter, Bucky needs a hug, By the way LOTS OF ANGST, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Mid-Credits Scene, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Demi!Steve, Lots of women drinking and rolling their eyes at stupid boys so this is basically a documentary, M/M, Natasha needs more vodka to deal with these idiots, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sharon Carter's a good person, Skyping, Steve Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Is Terrible At Relationships, Stucky Skype, T'Challa is our lord and saviour, Wakanda's really awesome, ace!Natasha, also pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-09 03:19:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6887650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreWolves/pseuds/BetteNoire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha bangs on his door that evening. “Steve, nobody's seen or heard from you in three days. I'm invading the sadness palace. I have ice cream.” Then: “Five seconds until I pick the lock.”</p><p>Sequel to The Spotless. Not stand-alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From You Have I Been Absent In The Spring

“Do you want to talk about it?” asked Sharon at lunch.

“No,” said Steve.

He sighed. She didn't deserve this. He looked up at her, in her pretty brown eyes that held nothing but kindness, nothing but regard for him. “Maybe later. Sorry.”

He pushed his chair away from his untouched plate of food and sloped off back into the cool of the villa, into his room, and shut the door. Sharon half-rose to follow but Natasha put her hand on her arm.

“How about we go shopping,” Natasha suggested. “I could use a lighter dress. The humidity is a little more than I thought it would be when I packed.”

“I think I'll stay here,” Sharon said. “You go on ahead.”

“Nope,” Natasha said, towing the taller blonde to her feet. “Avengers rule. Only one pile of sad allowed per safehouse. You're coming with me and we're getting manicures and those cute sandals the Wakandan girls wear, or I'll have to tell His Majesty we need a second villa to contain all the moping.”

“That is not a rule,” said Sharon, but her mouth twitched into a grin, almost despite herself.

Natasha narrowed her eyes in mock anger. “I am the second deadliest assassin in the world and--” then she paused and tilted her head, her eyes far away. “No. Now I'm probably the deadliest assassin in the world.” She glared back at Sharon. “In any case, don't challenge my authority. Manicures, now.”

She called down to Sam, who was at the edge of the lake, feeding leftover brioche to the local ostentation of peacocks. “Sam! We're going into the city for girl stuff, wanna come?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec to say goodbye to my girls,” he said. A peahen yowled at him, annoyed at the interruption in the flow of breadcrumbs.

Steve came out a few hours after they got back, at twilight, his face puffy, eyes red. “Guys, I... I think I'm going back to New York tonight.” He didn't meet anyone's eyes. “I'll grab a commercial flight.”

Sharon and Sam stood up immediately but Steve just put up his hands. “No. Enjoy your holiday. Chances to visit Wakanda don't come every day. I'll be fine.”

“Called it,” Natasha whispered.

As soon as Steve turned his back, Sam dug $100 out of his pocket and handed it silently to Natasha.

 

* * *

 

FROM: [MRMAKEDA@wakanda.gov](mailto:MRMAKEDA@wakanda.gov)

TO: [sgr@avengers.org](mailto:sgr@avengers.org)

 

SUBJECT: RE: re: re:

 

Dear Steven

Hello from Okere Province! I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back to you. The outgoing team left the research station in a bit of a shambles so we've had quite the busy few weeks repairing and settling in. Also, we only hook up the satellite for internet on Sundays. I tell the team it is to save power, but really, our generator is very good. Mostly it is because I want them to focus on the world around them, not little glowing rectangles in front of them. Don't tell!

Bucky is doing very well here. He has a natural talent for photography. Few people his age have the patience to sit as long as he does or as quietly, to let the animals become comfortable with his presence. We will be putting the photographs up on our page the Environmental Department's website, here: wakanda.gov/environ/okere.html . If you let the External Affairs liason know your IP address, she will whitelist you to be able to access the website from outside Wakanda.

He has a great love of climbing the trees here, but you must ask him about the time he accidentally met a Wakandan giant boa while high up in a eucalyptus tree. It is a good thing he is as agile as he is, otherwise he would have had a nasty fall.

As to your question, yes, we know he is... different. His Majesty briefed me as such when we were considering hiring him. In our country, we have many unusual people and they are welcomed in Wakandan society. They say it is caused by all the vibranium in the soil. The term for such people is hard to translate into English but “friend of the spirits” will do. People who are close to the spirits are considered good luck, so our team feel very fortunate to have one among us.

Our other foreigner at Okere Station is a PhD student from Japan. Yuki is learning Wakandan but didn't know the meaning of the term we were using to refer to Bucky, until her jeep became stuck on the jungle road to the Station. Bucky lifted the jeep out of the mud, and now she calls him “Kitaro” which she says is a Japanese spirit boy who looks scary but is actually very nice, and who has brown hair over his face.

This week we will begin our population survey of the white tigers of the province. It will take us quite a while, as tigers are solitary and often very difficult to track. But hopefully by next Sunday when there is internet again, we will have some exciting photographs to share.

Bucky misses you. He gets a faraway look in his eyes sometimes, and I believe he is thinking of you. We have set up an email for him: [JBBARNES@wakanda.gov](mailto:JBBARNES@wakanda.gov) . I know he would love to hear from you.

 

Sincerely

Dr Makeda

 

* * *

 

“Maria!” Sharon waved as she walked into the small café a few miles from Langley.

The tall brunette smiled and raised a glass of white wine in salute, from where she sat at a corner table, with a grand view of all exits and windows. “I started without you, Sharon, hope you don't mind.”

“Sorry. I was heading out the door when I got cornered by one of the directors.” Sharon eased herself into the seat opposite Maria Hill and glanced down at her feet, where a tote bag sat, half-hidden under the table. It matched one that Sharon was carrying. Sharon eased her tote down next to Maria's, then pulled Maria's over to her. Inside was a frayed, dirty backpack.

Maria's eyes narrowed; her voice dropped to a whisper. “You and Steve have to look at it and then get it back to me before 8am tomorrow, so I can put it back into Evidence.”

Sharon nodded. “Thank you, Maria.”

Maria leaned back and crossed her arms. “I'm not sure it's the best idea for Steve to look through these. They're... they're tough going, Sharon.” She glanced down. “No news on Barnes? They've not found any way to remove his triggers?”

“No. The Wakandans haven't made any progress. He's still in cryostasis,” Sharon said, the lie coming easily.

“Poor bastard,” Maria said.

The waitress appeared, and Sharon ordered a white wine and a salad.

“How's Steve?” Maria asked. “And how are you? I know it's been a couple months since Peggy left us, but... I'm not sure either of you have made time to mourn yet. It will catch up to you, you know. Usually catches up to me on planes. Nothing classier than blubbering like an infant 30,000 feet over Chicago. Snot streams and jet streams, that's me.”

Sharon smiled ruefully. “I know. I keep meaning to schedule a good Disney and Cry night, but that would mean my life would have to stop lurching from disaster to disaster first.”

Maria raised her glass silently and Sharon clinked hers against it. “Bring on the day,” Maria said.

“Yeah.” Sharon sipped her wine, a nice sharp Pinot Grigio, and her thoughts turned to Aunt Peggy. “You know,” she said, “I've never told anyone this, but... I asked Aunt Peggy's permission, about Steve.”

“Of course you did. Because you are a decent human being.”

“It was back when I was on guard duty, in my Agent 13 days. Long before DC, before SHIELD fell apart....”

“ _How's my best girl?” Peggy had smiled. She was having a good day._

“ _Fine, Aunt Pegs. I got a promotion, or at least I think it's one.” Sharon hesitated, unsure how to proceed. “I pulled protection duty on Steve Rogers. I'm in the apartment next to him, pretending to be a nurse.”_

“ _Oh?” Peggy said, raising her eyebrows, and Sharon knew from that look, that Peggy knew. Peggy could always read her like a book. She blushed, and looked down at her fingernails, the chipped pink polish that was part of her cover as a busy ICU nurse without time to care for herself. Peggy tapped her hand. “You should let your hair go back to its natural colour, darling. Steve very much has a type.”_

“ _Aunt Pegs, I'm not going to do that. I barely know him and I'm not going to change myself just in hopes of catching his eye,” she had responded, a little more sharply than perhaps necessary. “I like being blonde. People underestimate me more.”_

_Peggy had just laughed. “Thatta girl. Well, As far as Steve goes, you're two out of three, then. Tall and fiery. I'm sure he can compromise on the brunette part.” Then she shifted, growing serious. “Sharon, as someone who knows this road very well, I have to tell you. Steve isn't easy. He is at the same time the most maddening and most wonderful person in the entire world. If you're looking for some sort of fairytale romance, he is not it. It will be a lot of work.”_

“ _Is he worth it?”_

_Peggy shook her head. “That's not for me to decide, Sharon. Only you can.”_

“ _Thanks, Aunt Peggy.” Sharon sighed, and watched her great-aunt carefully, for any tell, any sign that she was saying one thing and feeling another. “Are you sure you're able to give me your blessing on this? I mean, you were the great passion of Steve's life.”_

_Peggy smiled, that wonderful smile full of secrets, still beautiful at 95 years of age._

 

* * *

 

FROM: [JBBARNES@wakanda.gov](mailto:JBBARNES@wakanda.gov)

TO: sgr@avengers.org

 

SUBJECT: hi

 

Hi Steve!

Wow, hi! I'm sorry it's taken me a while to respond. When Dr Makeda told me she set up an email account for me I didn't think much about it because who would email me? Unless it was one of the neuroscientists from the hospital checking up. So it's really stupid but getting your email kinda made my week. Hey, don't judge, not a lot happens up here. Internet Sunday and the supply jeep arriving are pretty much the sum total of our thrills. Supply jeep brings cherry soda. Do you have cherry soda in New York? I think I'm addicted to it. I know empirically that anything so artificially red can't be good for me but I'm willing to live dangerously.

Oh god. I don't know what else to say. Okere Province is beautiful. My co-workers are all pretty nice. We've been tracking tigers all week but haven't been able to get near them. Dr Makeda says she might send me out tomorrow alone in the area where we saw the female tiger two days ago, to see if I can get closer.

I'm sure this is all really boring for you, sorry. Save the world recently? Please keep writing, even if it's just one line.

 

\- B

 

* * *

 

Sharon looks at the little pile of cheap, worn notebooks on her kitchen table. She's done a lot of things in the name of the greater good that she found morally difficult to justify, both with SHIELD and the CIA, but this somehow feels like the worst. A violation.

She picks up her phone and calls Steve.

“Hey, what's up,” he says, sounding distracted. She can hear him tapping away on a keyboard in the background.

“Not much. You working late?”

“Yeah,” he says, hesitating. He always hesitates before he lies. “Mission debriefs that I blew off last week.”

“Oh. Gonna be done soon? Wondered if you felt like a nightcap. That Sorrentino film I was telling you about is on Netflix, now.” She looked down at her fingers, at the perfect manicure she now sported, and dug her index finger into her thumb, chipping at the enamel.

“Thanks, Sharon, but I think I'm going to crash out.”

“Okay. Maybe Sunday?”

“Yeah, Sunday sounds good. By the way, did you ever manage to track down Bucky's notebooks?”

Sharon glanced over at her kitchen table. “No, Steve. Sorry. We're still working on it.”

“Okay then. Night.”

“Goodnight, Steve.”

Sharon makes it halfway through the first notebook before she is crying so hard she can't see the pages, can't decipher the cramped, shaky handwriting any more through her tears.

 

* * *

 

FROM: [JBBARNES@wakanda.gov](mailto:JBBARNES@wakanda.gov)

TO: [sgr@avengers.org](mailto:sgr@avengers.org)

 

SUBJECT: TIGERS!!!!!!!!

 

STEVE LOOK

[mamatiger.jpg]

 

WHITE TIGER BABIES

[kittens.jpg]

 

LOOK AT THEM THEY ARE SO FUZZY

[mamaandkits.jpg]

 

I THINK I HAVE DIABETES NOW FROM THE CUTENESS OR MAYBE IT'S THE CHERRY SODA

[kittensplaying.jpg]

 

ALSO YUKI TOLD ME ABOUT SKYPE AND DO YOU WANT TO TALK ON VIDEO ON SUNDAY?

[treesloth.jpg]

 

\- B

 

 

* * *

 

FROM: [sgr@avengers.org](mailto:sgr@avengers.org)

TO: [JBBARNES@wakanda.gov](mailto:JBBARNES@wakanda.gov)

 

SUBJECT: RE: TIGERS!!!!!!!!

 

Hey Buck, I'm just running out to a mission rn but 1) you cannot get diabetes, trust me and 2) I'd love to talk to you on Sunday. My skype handle is SGRogers4F.

Also did you take those photos? They're fantastic.

 

\- SGR

 

* * *

 

VIDEO CALL: JAMES BARNES. ACCEPT? (Y/N)

 

“Hey Steve!” Bucky said. He was sitting at a desk in a large, sunny room, with several other people in it. The first thing Steve noticed was how tan Bucky had gotten, freckles on his forehead and across his nose far more prominent than their usual ghostly presence. The tan was emphasised by a white University of Wakanda t-shirt he was wearing, snug across his broad shoulders. The second thing he noticed was how the various other people in the room kept peeking over his shoulder.

“Hey Buck. Do you want to introduce me to your friends?”

Bucky grinned, and nodded. “They'll never leave us alone otherwise. Hey, guys, come say hi to Steve.” Three other people immediately clustered around: a plump black woman, a slim young Japanese woman, and a tall, angular black man. Bucky turned around and indicated each person, with a clear soda bottle of the most vile-looking bright-red substance Steve had ever seen. “Chioma, Yuki, and Dike. The other junior researchers. Chioma and Dike are seniors at University of Wakanda and Yuki's from Tokyo University.”

“Hi, Steve!” they chorused. Yuki waved enthusiastically and managed to knock into Bucky's bottle of soda, emptying a good part of it over his t-shirt. “Aiee, I'm so sorry!” Yuki blushed.

“Least you got the t-shirt, not the laptop. It was dirty anyway,” Bucky said, looking down at the big maraschino-red splotch on his chest. The view in the screen swerved sharply, and Steve realised Bucky must have picked up the laptop. Then they were in another room, and Steve heard the sound of a door shutting. The laptop view settled down on a bed, screened off with white mosquito netting.

Bucky sat down again in front of the screen and stripped off the t-shirt with its bright red soda stain, tossing it across the room. “It's been a hundred degrees all week, and so humid it's like breathing soup. Good thing you can't smell me through this.”

Bucky flexed his arms over his head, stretching out his back and neck, hair falling down across his face. There was no self-consciousness in his motions at all, no realisation of the sheer perfection in his form, but across the world in New York City, Steve bit back a small choking sound and dug his nails into his palms as he watched the play of muscles under Bucky's skin as he shifted, got comfortable.

Finally he settled, leaning back against the bedroom wall, in the diffuse light of a sunbeam filtered through the mosquito netting, laptop down on the bed by his knees. The light made his eyes glow, his arm glitter. Sapphire and gold.

“God, Bucky. When did you get so beautiful,” Steve whispered.

Bucky blushed, looking down and running his hands through his hair. “M' all gross, Stevie. Need a shower.”

Steve could see drops of sweat glisten at his collarbone in the sunlight, and he was seized with the almost visceral need to lick it off. He unclenched a hand and reached down between his legs, pressing his palm against his hardening cock. He was sitting at his desk, so (thank heavens) Bucky can only see his head and chest on the screen. “Bucky,” he said. “Talk to me. Tell me stories.” _Anything to distract me_ , he thought desperately, realising what a terrible idea this call had been.

Bucky shakes his head. “No, you tell me. You've heard all my stories. You never talk about New York. There's gotta be something that's not classified. Seen any movies? Are, I dunno, are the flowers out?”

“Buck. I _can't,_ ” Steve says. “I haven't done anything this week.” Then he whispers to himself, under his breath, _Anything but think of you_.

But hey, supersoldier hearing.

“Really?” Bucky stutters, his face lighting up with hope. He licks his lips, then reaches out and touches the screen with his flesh hand. Steve swallows thickly, and reaches out too, touching back.

When Bucky can talk again, his voice is thick with desire. “I want you so bad my bones ache,” he whispers, withdrawing his hand.

Steve moans and has to shift in his seat, unbutton his trousers.

Bucky gives him a lopsided smile. “I'm not even sure I'd know what to do with you if I got you, but I'm willing to wing it if you are.” He reaches down, palms himself with his left hand, and bites his lip. “God," he says through clenched teeth. “Sorry, this is what you do to me.” Then he looks up at Steve, his eyes wide and a little afraid. “Is this okay?”

Steve hasn't breathed this hard since before the serum.

“Bucky,” Steve gasps, finally, “touch yourself. I want to see you. Please.”

Bucky smiles, and it's like being bathed in sunlight. “Only if you take your shirt off too, Steve. M'feelin' a little underdressed here.”

Steve stands up and takes his shirt off and drops his trousers and underwear off too and just stands there for a second, naked as the day he was born, and Bucky just moans, “Christ, Stevie, I could come just looking at you.”

“Then do it,” Steve says. “I want to watch you come.”

Bucky pushes the laptop a little ways further away on the bed with his foot. He pulls his shorts down, easing his cock out and tossing the shorts in the same direction as the discarded t-shirt. He's not wearing any underwear. Then he circles his cock with his left hand, gold metal around the hard purple base of his erect cock. Bucky's cock was like the rest of him, thick and long and utterly perfect, and Steve's insides twisted with want.

Bucky looked up at Steve, eyes shining with desire, lips wet and parted, and his beautiful golden hand began slow, lazy strokes up and down the shaft of his cock, rubbing his thumb over the slit, spreading the precome that was already beaded there. It was the most erotic thing Steve had ever seen. A low, filthy moan escaped from Bucky and he bit his lip, his eyes never leaving Steve.

Steve's cock jerked and he had to grab himself and sit down again, on the floor, pulling the laptop down with him so Bucky could see all of him, too. Waves of desire hitting him again and again, sweeping him under, like the riptide at Coney Island. He had to shut his eyes for a moment. It was all too much. He never thought he would feel like this. When he read about romantic love, about passion, he had always assumed the authors were exaggerating for effect. But in that moment, looking into Bucky's eyes, pupils blown wide with desire as he stroked himself to ecstasy, he knew that the books hadn't even begun to describe what love was. The words were nothing more than poor, colourless, two-dimensional things; trying to explain a supernova via shadow-puppets.

He opened his eyes and Bucky was moaning his name, head thrown back, metal hand stroking his cock more frantically. His hips snapped up off the bed as he fucked up into his left hand. His right drifted over his muscular chest, trailing over hard nipples, down taut, washboard abs.

Steve had to grab the base of his cock hard to keep from coming right then. He wanted so much. His body, so long a neutral observer to human sexuality, suddenly began issuing urgent demands about Bucky's hands and mouth and cock and where all of them needed to go in the very very near future. He shuddered with lust as he realised how much he wanted Bucky _in_ him, how he wanted to sit on that lap and feel those hands on his hips as he lowered himself down on that cock, let it fill him up.

He told Bucky all of this, in moaned, bitten-off half sentences tumbling over each other, as he stroked himself off there on the floor, his back against the closet door, one leg bent. Bucky moaned back, “God, yes, Steve, all of that, Christ yes, I want to make you feel so good, I want to take care of you, god, you're so fucking beautiful, I want you all the time.” Bucky reached his other hand down to his balls and massaged them, and that tipped him over the edge, his body bowing taut, face radiant like an angel's, as ropes of come painted his stomach and chest.

Bucky's chest stopped heaving and he gradually came back to himself, looking down a little surprised at the mess all over his front. Then he grinned wickedly at Steve and traced the index and middle fingers of his left hand through the puddles of come, gathering up some of it. Then he stuck both fingers in his mouth, sucking on them, the edges of his lips turning up in a naughty smile.

There's only so much a man can take, and that was it for Steve. He fell over the edge himself, choking out Bucky's name as he came so hard he felt like he was flying apart, that he'd never come down from this high. But he did, eventually, and as he came down from the orgasm his lips moved over the same silent words, over and over, words that had been a part of his DNA for as long as he could remember but that even now he feared to speak, because they were the whole truth of him, and once he let them out into the world there would be nothing left. So instead his lips gave shape to the words they would be, if his throat had courage to give them voice: _Bucky I love you, I love you, I love you_.

They both panted, boneless and sparkly, just looking at each other. Steve could have stayed there all day, but then something beeped on Bucky's side.

'Shit,” Bucky said. “I only get an hour for internet, and it's up. I gotta go. Chioma needs to call her mom. Um, next Sunday?”

“Yeah, Buck. Next Sunday.” Steve considers it a major victory that he can form words at all.

Bucky leans forwards and touches the screen one last time, then there's the funny bee-boop sound of the call ending and he vanishes.

A window pops up: HOW WOULD YOU RATE THIS CALL? 1 STAR: POOR QUALITY 5 STARS: EXCELLENT QUALITY

Steve lets out a long, shuddering breath and looks down at the mess of himself, the cooling patches of come on his stomach. He was not okay at all. This was definitely cheating. Sharon didn't deserve this. He was a terrible human being.

He was even more of a horrible human being for pulling his laptop close again and, still sex-wrecked and naked on the floor, looking up the exact mechanics of what, if hypothetically he were to go visit Bucky in Wakanda, they could physically do in bed with each other. As a theoretical exercise. Tactical research, if you will. Which resulted in his body making more urgent demands, especially after he stumbled on some explicit videos with a male porn star who looked somewhat like Bucky, if you squinted.

He doesn't remember until he gets up to put his laptop back on his desk that he and Sharon had talked about watching movies today. He has three missed texts from her.

He'll text Sharon back soon. He just needs to process everything for a while. And shower. Definitely shower. And clear his browser history.

 

* * *

 

Natasha bangs on his door that evening. “Steve, nobody's seen or heard from you in three days. I'm invading the sadness palace. I have ice cream.” Then: “Five seconds until I pick the lock.”

When Steve opens the door she just blinks at him and, for a microsecond, she seems surprised. Then she looks up at him, intense and calculating. “Iiiinteresting,” she muses, walking past him into his apartment and grabbing his arm as she goes by.

“So,” she says, plopping down on his kitchen table and pulling three pints of ice cream and a bottle of vodka out of a shopping bag. “I was expecting to have to drink an entire bottle of vodka and talk to you about your feelings. But you appear happy. Also this place reeks of sex. Rogers. What.”

“Natasha,” Steve breathed, and grabbed a spoon from the cutlery drawer before sitting down at the table and reaching for the nearest tub of ice cream. “I need to talk to you about my feelings.”

Natasha held up a finger for silence, opened the bottle of vodka, took a big slug of it, wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve and said, “One. You're in love with Bucky and somehow, because I suppose even a blind hog can find an acorn sooner or later, one of you total incompetents managed to get their shit in gear long enough to make a pass at the other one.”

“That... would be approximately correct,” whispered Steve, staring down at the table.

“That's good, because all the eye-fucking in Wakanda was getting awkward.” Natasha held up two fingers and took another swig of vodka. Then: “Two. This causes you to feel severe guilt about at least five unrelated things, because you are Steven Grant Rogers and undeserving of human happiness.”

Steve sighed. “That's not exactly--”

Natasha glared at him. “I have knives. I will use them.”

“Fine. Also correct,” he groaned, throwing up his hands.

“So,” she said, a coquettish grin spreading over her face. “When did it happen?”

Steve dug at the ice cream. It was good. Ginger-Lavender, which was a flavor that certainly didn't exist when he was growing up. “I, um... he kissed me in the street, in Wakanda, the morning I went to see him off.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“A-and I kissed him back. A lot.”

She raised the vodka bottle. _Za vas_ , she said, taking another slug. She smiled around the neck of the bottle. “Are you sure he's reconditioned? Because that's some Winter Soldier tactics, right there. Take the most direct route possible to mission completion, no matter what's in the way.”

“That's not funny.”

“Yes it is.”

Steve evaded her gaze again. “No. Bucky was always...” He paused. He adored Natasha, and there was no doubt she could keep a secret, but this was getting into territory which he had never talked about, not to anyone. “Bucky was always good at the sex stuff,” he muttered. “Getting girls to kiss him and--” Steve made a weak little motion, “and all the other things.”

“And you?” Natasha asked, mildly.

“Me?” Steve said, his voice cracking, coming out about an octave higher than normal.

Natasha groaned. “Steve,” she said, plonking the bottle down on the table. “How much sex do you think I have?”

“Um... a lot?” Steve said.

“Wrong. I don't like sex. I'm not interested in it,” she said.

Steve blinked.

“Look, Steve,” she said, pouring herself off the table and into a chair, “I was trained to seduce, by the Red Room. I can read microexpressions, body posture, verbal and physical tells. They taught me how to use sex as a tactical weapon. Which I did, and I probably will again. But I do not enjoy or seek out sex. Not,” she says, holding a warning finger up, “not because I don't know what I'm doing (trust me, I do) or because I haven't found the right person yet or because trauma or anything else. Because _this is how I am_. For me, a loving relationship involves a deep mental attraction and some physical affection, but not penetrative sex.”

She took a small sip of vodka. “I blamed the Red Room for a long time. I thought I was cold, and broken, because everything--” and Natasha waves, indicating the outside world around them-- “everything in media tells us that the end result has to be this thing, this physical act, that I have no interest in. But I'm not broken. There are lots of people like me. And I'm not lonely. I've had _wonderful_ loves in my life: Bruce, Clint, Yelena... There are as many different ways to love as there are different types of flowers in a garden, and each one is beautiful in its own way.” She smiled. "You wouldn't tell the lily it would be better as a rose, now, would you?"

Steve gaped.

Natasha slid the bottle over to him. He grabbed it and let the fiery, clear spirit burn down his throat, then passed the bottle back to her.

“I... That's me, too. Or at least I thought it was,” Steve said. “Peggy just somehow understood, and didn't force the issue. I... I hadn't gotten around to explaining to Sharon yet. Everyone assumes because of,” and Steve waved a hand over himself, indicating _the body_ , “that I'm all on board for... _that_. It's... uncomfortable.”

“But,” Natasha said.

A blush blossomed up Steve's neck and across his face. “Bucky,” was all he managed at first, but Natasha was willing to wait. “He makes me into a different person. A person who wants... _things_.”

“You love him, though,” Natasha said, and Steve paled. Natasha knocked her forehead against the vodka bottle in exasperation. “ _Steve_. Remember what I just told you about the Red Room? Microexpressions? Tells? Come on, this is something I have known since D.C. In his eyes as well as yours. Even when he was the Winter Soldier, when he didn't even know his own goddamn name, something in him loved you.”

Steve had another full-body convulsion; his heart felt like it was exploding in his chest. Then he sank his head down on the table.

Natasha reached over and ran her small, strong hand through his hair, petting him. “Ssh, Steve, it's okay. One of the flowers in the garden of human love is people who only become sexually interested in partners after they form a deep, profound emotional bond with them. I think this is you.”

“But, Peg--”

“Don't but, Rogers. Don't try to second-guess the vagarities of the human heart; that's how you end up on the wrong side of history. You're okay. You're better than okay. You're in _love_. Everything that is happening right now is fine up to and excepting the hangover I'm going to have tomorrow. He makes you happy, right?”

Steve looked up at her, the naked emotion crystal clear in his eyes. “God, yes.”

“Good,” Natasha said. Then she paused, as if unsure how to continue. Finally, she said quietly, “How much is he still... Bucky?”

“He's more like the Bucky I grew up with every day. Flirty, goofy, employs sarcasm as a lethal weapon, swears--”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “I hope that's the only lethal weapon he's going to employ.” She takes another drink of vodka. “It isn't inconceivable that he'll still come back, Steve. His brain has an impressive record of healing itself.”

“Natasha, he doesn't have to come back. _It's him_. It's still him, but it's like a him who was given a better chance, was able to go through a different door in life. One that didn't involve ever becoming a soldier. Here,” he says, pulling out his phone. “He takes the most amazing photographs now.” Steve finds the series of photos of the white tiger mother and cubs, and passes it over.

Natasha looks, and purses her lips slightly, the face she makes when she's pretending she's too cool to find something like photos of fluffy white tiger babies meltingly adorable. “I'd still keep him away from any sort of violence,” she said, handing the phone back. “I'm worried there's some sort of latency there. What he's doing, the photography, it's a sort of nonlethal sniping, you realise. Exact same skill set.”

“I know,” Steve says. “But in some ways, that reassures me. It's still _Bucky_. He's still good at the same things.” He throws the extra two pints of ice cream in the freezer and sits back down to polish off the rest of the ginger ice cream, now well on its way to softness. “I just wish I knew why he had them take out all his memories.”

Natasha smirks. “I don't think memories are conveniently organised by year, Steve. It's not like pulling a file at SHIELD. I don't think he _meant_ to erase all of you.”

 

 

* * *

 

FROM: TDEMACHETA[@wakanda.gov](mailto:JBBARNES@wakanda.gov)

TO: [sgr@avengers.org](mailto:sgr@avengers.org)

 

SUBJECT: RE: FWD: bucky question

 

Dear Mr Rogers

This is Dr Emacheta, I was one of the lead neuroscientists for Bucky's procedure. His Majesty forwarded on your email to me. I can assure you we went through his former activation sequence with him weekly after the procedure was complete. His Majesty kindly stood by in case of emergency. We last went through the sequence during his final clearance to go to Okere Station with Dr Makeda. One of our team interned in Moscow and is fluent in Russian, so we are sure of the pronunciations. I am pleased to say now that the words are just words.

 

Kind regards

 

Dr T Emacheta

University of Wakanda

Neuroscience Institute

 

* * *

 

VIDEO CALL: JAMES BARNES. ACCEPT? (Y/N)

 

“Hey Bucky. Where are you?” Steve said.

Bucky was grinning at him, somewhere outside, dappled sunshine falling over his face. “Gotta guess, Steve. Hang on, lemme give you a little tour.” The laptop was picked up and turned, making everything a little seasick momentarily on the webcam. The next thing he saw was a strange, fleshy flower, its roots seemingly not in soil but in air. “That's an orchid,” Bucky said.

“I know what an orchid looks like, Bucky.”

“Yeah, but you ever see one not in a pot?” The webcam turned again, and Steve could make out a dozen white birds with yellow plumes on their head, sitting in a nearby tree, looking at him judgementally. “Know what those are?”

“Birds?” Steve said. “Um, parrots?”

“Nah. Cockatoos. Noisy bastards. They get real chatty at sunset and sunrise.” The view seesawed again, then Steve was looking straight down, to copper roof tiles glinting far below, through tree branches. “That's home, down there. Okere Station.” One last blurry skew and Bucky was smiling at him again, and the laptop was further away now so he could see that Bucky was lounging in the crook of a eucalyptus tree, a small backpack hung over a nearby branch. He was wearing a heathered navy v-neck t-shirt that was slightly too small for him, and the same cargo shorts, which were already starting to fray.

Steve grinned back. “Dr Makeda said you like being up in the trees.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “It's much easier up here, getting around. I mean,” he continued, his voice stumbling and growing quieter, “if you're, if you're a freak, like me. You go from tree to tree and you get... miles away. Very quickly. I, uh, I have a lot of energy and if I don't burn it off, I can't sleep. And it makes me feel peaceful, just to let go and move. It's fun to move through the air. It's a different world up here in the canopy.” Bucky's smile was everything in that moment, the simple happiness in his face, the ease in his body as he sprawled a couple hundred feet off the jungle floor.

“Dr Makeda also said to ask about a snake...?”

“Oh my god.” Bucky blushes and ducks his head, giggling. “I'm never going to live that down. Okay. I had gone off for a while, and I was coming back, nearly to the compound, and I wasn't paying as much attention as I should because I was almost home, y'know? So I leap for this branch and land on it and suddenly realise I am staring at this gigantic goddamn snake that I'd thought was another trunk. Thing was as big as a house, Stevie. I squealed like a little girl and made this ridiculous face and then fell ass over teakettle right off the branch.”

Steve snorts, tries briefly to maintain a sense of decorum in the face of Bucky's obvious embarrassment, and fails. He cracks up.

“No, laugh it up, Stevie, that thing's skull was as big as my chest. Like to see you not lose it when presented with 600lbs of surprise death snake. Managed to snag another branch after falling about 50 feet but... oh god, the problem was, we have these GoPro cameras set up near the compound so we can post video of different jungle micro-environments, and the snake was right next to the jungle canopy one. They all stream to a computer in the common area.”

“Oh no,” Steve says, his face red, gasping for breath.

“I limp into the compound and my co-workers are all sitting there looking at me. You know they say the reason that I'm, I'm different, is because I'm close to a spirit? I walk in, and Dr Adewumni just shakes his head solemnly and says, 'Well, it's not the snake spirit.'”

Steve howls. His sides ache, and his eyes are wet with tears of happiness. “Oh god, Bucky. I need to see this.”

Bucky puts his head in his hands. “Oh, don't worry. If you ever come visit me, I guarantee they will show you the video within the first five minutes of you arriving. You might not even make it out of the jeep. Because my co-workers are assholes.”

“So what's the current betting on what spirit you're close to?”

Bucky's eyes narrow and he folds his arms over his chest. “Warthog spirit. Because apparently white people smell funny. I hate my co-workers, Stevie. They're all jerks.”

“Warthogs don't climb trees, do they?”

“My point exactly,” Bucky pouted. He was adorable when he pouted. Steve wanted to bite that lip, to lean into him and nuzzle him until the corners of his mouth turned up again. “Also, I don't smell. I mean, not much.”

They were quiet for a moment, and Bucky fidgeted, clearly wanting to ask something. Finally he gathered his courage and muttered into his lap, “Steve? Were we... before? Y'know...”

Steve smiled. He'd been thinking about this, a lot, about their history, seen through this different angle. “We loved each other, Buck. We always have. But... not physically. I mean, you kissed me the day before my 15th birthday so I could tell the boys at school I'd had my first kiss when I was 14. But this is actually the first time we're both okay at the same time. One of us was always... not well, in some way. This is the first real chance we've had.”

Then Steve tensed his jaw. This was the part he wasn't looking forwards to, but it had to be done. “But, Bucky, we need to, to stop things, for a while. I'm not presently able to... to see you. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let things get away from us as much as they did the last time we talked. I was, uh, kinda blindsided. But we can't do that again--”

Bucky slumped, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. “Because you have a girlfriend,” he whispered. “Because of Sharon.”

“What?!” Steve said, small and choked. How the hell did Bucky know?

Bucky tilted his head and looked at him, sharp and sarcastic. “Steve. This is Wakanda, not Mars. You two were on the cover of _People_ magazine.” Bucky dropped his gaze, and Steve saw that he was pinching at the skin of his right forearm with the fingers of his golden hand, pulling hard enough that it looked like it would leave bruises. “It was one of the things in my room when I came out of the, uh, the procedure. I was fascinated by it because it had lots of pictures of white people, and at the time there wasn't anyone who looked like me in the hospital. I think I read it a hundred times. I mean, it didn't really mean anything to me until, until I met you.” He looked up. “Your interview, in the magazine... you didn't mention me at all.”

Steve made a little sound of agony. That stupid goddamn interview. All part of the press effort over the Sokovia repeal. Light and fluffy, _we want to humanise the man behind the shield_ , painting him as the All-American hero in love with the All-American Girl at his side; how it meant he was in touch with normal people. He'd cringed at time over the way the journalist had embroidered his and Sharon's relationship, making it sound like some corny thing out of a pulp romance novel. Even Sharon had rolled her eyes at it.

Bucky smiled a thin, sad smile. “I didn't want to ask about her. I mean, I'm on the other side of the world, and you're, you're _Captain America_. I know I can't have you. But it was nice to pretend for a little while.”

The gears tumbled in Steve's mind, as he works out timelines, dates, events since Romania... and what they must have looked like from Bucky's point of view. From the point of view of someone who was in love with him.

And finally the gears click into place, and it's like someone plunged a hot knife into Steve's stomach.

He suddenly knows why Bucky wiped his memories so completely.

And he knows that it didn't have a damn thing to do with his activation codes.

Steve stutters, a miserable, cold sickness prickling down his neck and shoulders. “Buck. Buck, I, uh, I gotta go, I'm real sorry.” He slams the laptop shut and leaps to his feet, and almost makes it to the bathroom before he throws up all over the floor. How many times could he hurt the same person?

 

* * *

 

Bucky trudged into the Okere Station common room. “Chioma, internet's free,” he said, staring at his sneakers.

Chioma, a plump, very dark-skinned black woman, glanced at her phone then looked up at him in surprise. “You still have fifteen minutes left, Bucky.”

Bucky shrugged, his gaze still not rising from the floor. “Extra time's yours.”

“You okay?” asked Yuki, looking up from her laptop and pulling her headphones away from her ears.

Bucky just shook his head, hair curtaining his face, hiding the tears that pricked at his eyes. He went into his room and nudged the door closed with his foot on the way past. It didn't quite latch.

Yuki stuck her head in about half an hour later, to find Bucky lying in bed on his back, staring at the ceiling. “Hey. Kitaro. Can I get you anything? Chioma still has some sodas left. There's even cherry soda.”

Bucky shook his head slightly.

“Okay,” said Yuki, retreating back through the doorway. “I wish you spoke Japanese. I'd drag you off to watch anime with me. Ryuko hitting things with scissors makes everything better.”

Bucky looked at her then, his eyes intensely blue against the swollen redness around them. “Say something in Japanese,” he said, his voice cracked and low.

Yuki stopped. “<You have more surprises for us, Kitaro-chan?>”

Bucky sat up. “<Apparently.>”

Yuki squeaked happily, grabbed her laptop, and sat down next to Bucky, then started the video.

Bucky watched the bright, noisy cartoon with her for a while, something ridiculous about schoolgirls having duels in special uniforms that made no tactical sense at all. He frowned. “<The fights are stupid,>” he said at last.

Yuki blinked at him. “<That's the point, dummy.>”

“Oh,” Bucky said. “<But, see, this guy-->” He wanted to explain to her about the character with the bamboo practice sword, there was something wrong, it was... he grasped for it in his mind, a wisp of golden fog, that dissipated into warm nothingness as soon as he reached for it. He sighed. “<Never mind. It doesn't matter.>”

Nothing mattered, not really. Not any more.

 

* * *

 

SGR: Hi Sharon. Are you free for dinner this week? I think we need to talk.

 

SHARON 13: Yes, and yes.

 

SGR: Okay. DiStefano's? 8 tomorrow?

 

SHARON 13: No. Not in public. I'll come over to yours, with takeout.

 

SGR: Okay. Thanks.

 

* * *

 

FROM: [MRMAKEDA@wakanda.gov](mailto:MRMAKEDA@wakanda.gov)

TO: [sgr@avengers.org](mailto:sgr@avengers.org)

 

SUBJECT: RE: re: re: re: re:

 

Dear Steven,

 

Something is very wrong with Bucky.

I'm wondering if he's said anything to you at all, if you know what we might be able to do to help him. He barely speaks any more. He would always go off on his own but now it is for longer periods, and sometimes he doesn't come back at night. He is still fulfilling all his duties to the research station, but it is as if a light has gone out inside him. It is a shock to us because he is such a cheerful soul, and we are all very concerned for him.

If you can think of anything we can do, please call me. You have my cell number.

 

Sincerely

 

Dr Makeda

 

* * *

 

Sharon arrives exactly at 8pm, bearing a bottle of merlot, two bags of food from Steve's favourite Italian place, and a wary expression.

“I'll be right out!” Steve called, from behind the bedroom door, as he had a minor fashion crisis. He had no idea what the etiquette was of a breakup. This was the second (third?) real relationship of his entire life and the only one that looked like it was going to end without somebody dying. Should he look nice, to show respect for her? Or should he look sloppy, to show he was emotionally affected? He was so fond of Sharon, she was an amazing person... she just wasn't _the_ person. He sighed, and sat down on the bed, putting his head in his hands. What would Peggy do?

Peggy would look nice to show respect.

Steve got up and threw on the blue button-down shirt and good jeans that he'd laid out earlier, the tidy option next to his old SSR shirt and his painting jeans. He brushed his hair back, tugged his shirt down, and went out to face the firing squad.

God, she was pretty, sitting there in a summer dress with a glass of wine, head tilted, looking at him with an amused smile on her face.

...was she amused by his discomfort?

Oh god, this was going to be horrible, Steve thought, as he trudged to the kitchen table and sat down.

“Peggy's birthday tomorrow,” Sharon said, taking a sip of her wine.

“Yeah, it is, isn't it,” Steve breathed, feeling like a deer in the headlights of her cool, chestnut eyes.

Sharon swirled the wine in her glass, and looked down at it. “She gave me her blessing to date you, you know.”

“Uh,” said Steve.

Her smile spread a bit, like she was holding in a joke. “I asked her if she minded, because of course she was the great passion of your life. And do you know what she said to me?”

“Nuh-uh,” said Steve.

“She said, _Oh, Sharon. Steve and I were very much in love, but I wasn't the great passion of his life. That honour belonged to someone else._ And I looked about as confused as you do right now, Steve. Then Aunt Peggy pats my hand and she says, _He died, darling, in the war_. And she gave me that smile, you know, the Peggy smile where you can see the great tangle of secrets she keeps in her heart. _Tall, fiery brunettes, remember?_ She said.”

“But, I, uh,” Steve started, but stopped when Sharon held up a hand.

“Yeah, you and me both. Peggy explained. She said, _It was never consummated. Steve did not cheat on me, of that I am sure. I don't think he even realised what his feelings were, his overwhelming need to be near that boy. And the other party... I'd heard he was quite the rake, but by the time I met him he was haggard, barely holding himself together from shellshock. Poor boy. He had the loveliest eyes. Like the sea in winter._ ”

Steve made his dying whale sound and his hand shot out to grab Sharon's. He grabbed it too hard, he knew he was holding her hand too tightly, but he couldn't stop, just had to bring her hand to him so he could kiss her knuckles, press the back of her hand across the burning heat in his cheeks. Tears were leaking from his eyes. “Sharon,” he choked, “I could never deserve you.”

Peggy's voice continued in Sharon's head, but she didn't speak the rest of her words. Not how Peggy had said, _Maybe you will be the next great passion of Steve's life. I hope so. Steve needs it. Just... don't start anything while you're still working protection detail on him. The brass are ever so much more stuffy about rules during peacetime._

Sharon tucked her fall of blonde hair behind her ear. There were a lot of things she wanted to say then, many of them as sharp as cut glass. But instead she cupped her hand over Steve's cheek and said, “No. But I think you and Bucky both deserve some happiness.”

She stood up and gathered her things, before pressing a final kiss to the top of Steve's head. “You'll excuse me. I'm not feeling very hungry tonight.”

And with that, Sharon Carter walked out of Steve's life.

 

* * *

 

Dike stood on the roof and yelled up the tree. “Bucky! Supply jeep has come!”

“Whatever,” came the mumbled response from the heights. “I didn't order anything.”

“No, no, there is something for you,” called the young zoology student. He waved an 9x12 manila envelope in the air. “See?” Dike waited for a response but none came. A minute passed, then another. Dike was patient, and very fond of Bucky, but if he didn't get back to the supply jeep soon, Chioma and Yuki would make off with all the good chocolate. “Fine, I'm going inside before the girls take all the sweets!” he said, turning to go.

“What is it?” came Bucky's voice from behind him.

Dike jumped in the air. “Man, don't do that!” Then he huffed in annoyance. “I don't know. It's your mail,” he said, shoving the envelope towards Bucky.

Bucky took it and trailed into the building after Dike, turning the envelope over in his hands. There was no name or address on it. “You sure it's for me?” he said, running a metal finger under the flap, unsealing it. He hesitated in the hallway to the common area, and pulled the bright magazine out of the plain envelope.

It was a copy of _People_ magazine, the current week's.

Steve was on the cover, in his uniform. The headline says, _Captain America Reveals: The True Love of His Life_.

There is a photo of him and Steve, must be from the time before, both looking at each other and laughing. And a subhead, in big white letters, _Why I'm taking a sabbatical, to spend more time with Bucky._

Bucky's legs skitter out from under him and he hits the wall with his metal shoulder. He can't breathe. His heart is hammering in his chest. He tears into the magazine, looking for the article. His hands shake, and the pages stick to the sweat on them, the cheap ink smudging. Words, phrases jump out at him.

 

_\--Loved him since we were kids--_

 

_\--to be with Barnes in an undisclosed location for the foreseeable future--_

 

_\--temporarily putting down the shield--_

 

“Bucky, get out of the hallway. Go use a chair like a normal person,” says Chioma, coming up behind him and shooing him. “Go, go. I want to sit down and read my mail, too.”

Bucky looks up, his eyes a little wild. “S-sorry,” he says. She grins back at him, but Bucky just assumes it's because it's Supply Jeep Day and she's scored something good.

Bucky doesn't realise how wrong he is until he walks into the common room.

The entire Okere Station crew is staring at him and smiling, draped over all the sofas and chairs available.

 

Except the chair opposite the door.

  
Where Steve is sitting.

 

Bucky's not sure what his own face is doing but he's pretty sure he looks like an idiot, and he's also pretty sure he doesn't care. Part of his brain isn't accepting that Steve is right there, in the faded green chair Yuki usually falls asleep in, huge and blonde and beautiful and smiling at him like the cat who's about to get all the cream.

Steve grins and points at him. “Sloth spirit. They like trees, right?”

Bucky's co-workers, because they are all jerks, start laughing at him and clapping.

“Aaw, fuck you,” Bucky says, throwing up his hands.

Steve grins some more. “That's kinda why I'm here, Buck.”

Bucky drops the magazine on the ground and is over to Steve in about three strides, hauling him bodily to his feet and crushing his mouth against Steve's soft, wide lips.

His co-workers, who remain jerks, clap some more and start wolf-whistling.

Finally Bucky remembers he has to breathe and he stops the kiss, panting into Steve's mouth. “You... you came out,” he said.

“Yep,” Steve replied.

“And.. you're gonna stay here for a while?”

“Yep, if you'll have me.”

“ _Nnuh_ ,” Bucky said, crashing his lips against Steve's again. He really didn't want to stop kissing Steve ever again, but--

“Who's gonna save the world?”

Steve shrugged. “Tony owes me one. And Sam's gonna carry the shield in the meantime.”

“Steve, what if people come after us?”

“Bucky, how are they going to find us? And if anyone does, I will kick their goddamn ass. I'm Captain America. Let 'em come.”

“ _mmnnn_ ,” Bucky whined, and kissed Steve again.

“Ahem,” came a cultured voice from behind them. It was Dr Adewumni. “I believe as the kids say, _get a room?_ ”

Bucky grinned. He thought he might never stop smiling ever again. He tucked his arm around Steve's big, thick bicep and pulled him towards the hallway, a spark in his eyes that promised all sorts of mayhem. “It's this way. Kinda small, but we'll make do.”

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said as they crossed the room. “I been thinking. You're from Brooklyn. I bet it's the sewer rat spirit.”

“I like him! He can stay,” called Dr Adewumni.

Bucky looked at Steve through his brows and _growled_ as he dragged Steve into the hallway.

“Fuck,” moaned Steve, biting his lip and trying to control the shiver of pure, fiery want that burned through him. “You need to not make that noise any more until we're behind a closed door.”

“Bedroom's right here, Stevie,” said Bucky, pushing him backwards through the door and shutting it and locking it behind him.

Steve is on him in a second, shoving him back against the locked door, hands running up Bucky's sides, pushing up his shirt, body pressing up against Bucky's.

“Bucky,” he breathed, his voice thick with desire as he trailed his lower lip feather-light across those high cheekbones, that sharp jaw, the bowed lips.

“Bucky, I love you.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> UPDATE: OKAY FINE, YOU FILTHY HEATHENS, I WILL WRITE THE GODDAMN PORN CODA. Stay tuned. Won't be for a couple weeks as I have other things to finish first. (It won't be just porn. There are a couple other threads I want to explore.) (Also I love you all.)
> 
> Bucky's co-workers give me life.
> 
> BUCKY: You know I can bench-press a jeep and parkour for 50 miles through the jungle canopy without getting tired, right?
> 
> CO-WORKERS: You know you're on dish duty tonight, right?
> 
> nb: Igbo and Yoruba (two of the major Nigerian languages) have been used to stand in for Wakandan.
> 
> Kitaro is a manga by Shigeru Mizuki. In the US and Canada it's published by Drawn & Quarterly and you should read it because it's awesome. Here's Kitaro himself: https://www.drawnandquarterly.com/sites/default/files/styles/press-full/public/images/press/2014/KITARO.cover_.jpg?itok=8s04NzGi
> 
> The anime that Yuki and Bucky watch is Kill la Kill, which is on Netflix in the US. Bucky has a moment about the character Uzu Sanageyama, who fights with a Kendo practice sword. 
> 
> Title is the first line of Shakespeare's Sonnet 98, which is gorgeous. One of my many party tricks is I am able to recite it from memory: http://www.shakespeare-online.com/sonnets/98.html
> 
> I think this is it for the Spotless stories? Unless I write a porn coda. Um, I really need to finish Number One With A Bullet, and I meant to do it first, but all the dialogue for this happened in my head.
> 
> Also, sorry, I know this was going to be Gen but then the skype call scene happened. How would you rate that call, Rogers?
> 
> If you like this, I also have two other big fics:  
> The Murder Ballads, which is TWS-compliant BAMF!Bucky: http://archiveofourown.org/series/413774  
> Lucky Seven, which is a Cap!Steve/Modern!Bucky AU (for Stucky Big Bang 2016) full of angst and sex and tattoos and motorcycles: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7033105/chapters/16002481


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